One Forgets
by Saerei
Summary: Scout is mortally wounded, with no help in sight. -Short story, little more than a page- -Emotional writing practice-


The shriek of rockets spiraling through the air ripped the brief silence into unrecognizable shreds of something that once was. Feet hit the ground swiftly as a lone figure sprinted away from the chaos, a blue briefcase strapped to his back. Adrenaline pumped through Scout's body as he ran, turning a corner to escape his pursuers.

Without warning, his feet were blasted out from under him. He did a flip through the air before landing with a thump some distance away, slumped up against a wall. The rocket that caught his feet had been the first he'd failed to avoid.

Scout attempted to stand, but his legs would not comply. Everything seemed slightly blurry, like it a dream. At his right, he could see the enemy team's Soldier approaching at his leisure. He was reloading his rocket launcher, a grim expression plastered across his face. Scout tried to crawl away, but moving was a huge mental effort that seemed impossible. He gazed down at himself, trying to figure out what the problem was.

The icy cold prickle of fear danced down his back, and settled in his stomach. There was blood- so much blood. Both of his legs were twisted at awkward angles, torn and bloodied almost beyond recognition. He became aware of the pain, a sharp feeling that seemed to only intensify the dreamlike feeling.

Weakly, he called out for help.

Suddenly, his own team's Soldier was at his side. The menacing form of the enemy exploded in a shower of gore, dismantled by a couple rockets from an ally. Soldier looked down at Scout. His expression did not change as he gripped the blue briefcase with both hands, and pulled it off of Scout's back. Without saying anything, he turned around and walked away, casting a glance of pity over his shoulder.

'_He thinks I'm dead,'_ Scout thought. '_He thinks I'm dead. He's not going to help me because he thinks I'm dead... Am I dead?'_

The frigid touch of fear strengthened. In vain, Scout struggled to move- to stand. To do anything to prove to himself that he wasn't dead. His arms appeared to be working, but it pained him to move. He gazed at his hands, which were covered in his own blood. He hadn't realized how gloriously he'd been hit. The puddle of blood surrounding him grew alarmingly larger. It became harder to breathe. This seemed to reinforce that fact that he was going to die, and complete panic took over. He forgot about respawn, he forgot that it would only be a temporary end. Survival instincts took over.

"M-Medic!" he called as loudly as he could, desperation filling his voice. This took all the energy he had, and after the word passed from his lips, he slumped further down. It was all he could do to keep his eyes open as blurry figures flitted toward him. He could hear voices.

"Zere he is!"

"Doktor we can't stay here."

"Sh. Cover me. Zis vill only take a moment."

The unfocused form of Medic knelt down at Scout's side, feeling his neck for a pulse.

"He is alive," Medic called to some enormous figure over his shoulder. The other replied with something that sounded like an outcry of horror, as if they could not believe what they were seeing could be described as 'alive'. Somewhat distractedly, Scout realized the hulking figure behind Medic was Heavy. Only the tall Russian could pull off such a noise.

Suddenly the pain became less distant. It was cruelly sharp and unforgiving, causing Scout to cry out in agony.

"Shh, jou vill be fine," Medic said softly. "Focus on me, ja? Focus."

The Medi-Gun was active, flowing it's healbeam over the tortured form of Scout. Even as Medic spoke, the pain began to lessen. Clear vision returned, and Scout found he could breathe easily once more. He was pulled to his feet as the last of the wounds closed over, completely healed.

Medic stared at him. "Good to go?"  
Terror slowly fading, Scout checked himself over. Arms. Legs. Back. Head. Chest. Aside from the torn clothes, it was as if he had never been hurt. He shakily took a step forward, steadied by Medic. His confidence grew as he took a few more steps, and realized he was fine. Cured. Whole.

Medic grinned broadly, hefting his Medi-Gun. "Come, ve must get out of here...Zere are Blus everyvhere."

"Little man looked dead," Heavy commented.

Scout replied slowly, "...I thought I was."


End file.
